


Right Time, Right Place

by SuburbanSun



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Field Mission, Undercover Missions, Undercover as a Couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:41:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuburbanSun/pseuds/SuburbanSun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How difficult could a field mission to a former professor's Christmas party really be? Pretty difficult, as it turns out, when you're Leo Fitz, you've got it bad for your partner, and said professor's wife might want you dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Right Time, Right Place

**Author's Note:**

> For TheClaravoyant on Tumblr, for the Fitzsimmons Secret Santa exchange. Happy holidays!
> 
> Takes place roughly around Christmas during season 1.

“FitzSimmons, if all goes according to plan--”

“And it will,” said Ward, noticing the twin wide-eyed expressions on the scientists’ faces. Coulson spared him a look and continued.

“If all goes according to plan, your portion of the mission won’t be excessively dangerous, but it’s crucial. S.H.I.E.L.D. has reason to suspect that your former SciTech professor Jeremy Balfour’s wife, Linda, is leaking classified intel.”

“To whom, sir?”

“That’s above your clearance level, Simmons. Let’s just say it’s best for everyone if Professor Balfour’s research results remain private.”

Simmons nodded, lips a tight line. Fitz looked at her nervously before nodding as well, tapping the fingers of his left hand in a pattern on the briefing table.

“We’re lucky that you two were on the invite list for his annual Christmas party. No need for cover identities-- you can just be yourselves.” Coulson placed a small, sleek briefcase on the table. “Well, versions of yourselves who are skilled at covertly planting listening devices.” He opened the case to reveal six tiny devices, nestled in gray foam. He plucked one from the case, holding it up between two fingers.

“We’ll need one of these in every main living space of the house. Stick them in a potted plant or on the back of a framed picture of his kids-- however you can make it happen without being noticed. Do you understand?”

Fitz and Simmons both nodded solemnly.

“We can do it, sir,” Fitz said.

Coulson nodded once in response. “We have no reason to believe they’re aware of our suspicions, so you should be in the clear-- but just in case, May and Ward will maintain a perimeter around the house. Skye and I will be on comms just down the block.”

“Aw, I don’t get to dress up, too? I miss parties,” said Skye, pouting and leaning both elbows on the table.

“Dress as nice as you’d like, Skye.” Coulson smirked. “I’ll be in a suit.”

“Anything else we should know, sir?”

Coulson fixed Fitz and Simmons with an appraising look. “Just don’t do anything that’s going to call attention to yourselves. You’re neither of you Romanoff. Just… act normal.”

Fitz and Simmons exchanged a glance. _Normal_ wasn’t placing listening devices in the private residence of a beloved former professor, Fitz thought, but who was counting?

 

Fitz tugged at the collar of his crisp white button-down. He’d grown accustomed to wearing ties every day. A bow tie, though, was quite another thing.

“Are you sure I have to wear this monkey suit?” he called to Simmons, busy getting ready in her bunk across the corridor, both doors left partially open. He heard a compact snap shut, a spritz of hairspray. He rocked on his heels (dress shoes purchased by Skye the day before, soles a little slick, toes a little pinched), waiting.

“‘Course you do. The invitation said black tie.”

“D’you think that literally means I have to wear a black tie though? People are going to think I’m a waiter.”

“Hush, Fitz. I’m sure you look dashing.”

He rolled his eyes. Simmons could look amazing in sweatpants and the old faded MIT t-shirt she denied ever stealing from him, but he felt foolish in most anything he wore that was outside his norm. At least his usual style was practical-- cardigans that kept him warm combined with plaids and checks that neither stood out nor blended in. This, though… He looked at his reflection in the small mirror that hung on the wall in his bunk. Grimacing, he moved a hand to try to tame his curls-- _might be due for a haircut_ \-- when he caught a glimpse of Simmons out of the corner of his eye, pushing his door all the way open.

His hand stilled.

“Almost ready?” She looked over at him with one hand on the doorframe, eyebrows raised. He just stood in place, mouth hanging slightly open, drinking her in.

Her dress was a deep purple, strapless and long. She’d pulled her hair back into a neat bun, and wore delicate, understated jewelry. He’d seen her dress up-- for their graduation from the Academy, for the occasional date with a classmate, for dinner the first time she’d met his mum-- but not to this degree. He knew he had to speak soon, but had no grasp of what might come out of his mouth, nor control over it.

“Cold.”

“Cold?”

He cleared his throat, shaking his head a bit to break the spell she had him under. “You’ll get cold, no? Your--” He gestured wildly to her exposed shoulders. “You know. Don’t you want to cover up?”

She gave him a look he couldn’t interpret, though it passed, and she just smiled at him. “That’s what your jacket’s for.”

He nodded and made to take it off and give it to her, but she laughed, holding out a hand to stop him. “No, I meant-- I do have a shawl. But thank you, for being willing to freeze for me.” She turned to retrieve her shawl from her own bunk.

“No problem,” he said absently, watching her movement. He was thinking about how sometimes when he worked beside Simmons in the lab, she would hum to herself, a pop tune that they’d heard on the radio earlier that day, or a Beatles song she’d grown up listening to. She would hum, so involved in her work that she never noticed she was doing it, sometimes bobbing her head to the tune, safety goggles firmly in place. He was thinking about how if he could manage to keep himself from blurting out the feelings that swelled in his chest as he watched her so overcome with joy and song and science, then he could certainly handle this night, and that dress.

Then she reappeared in his doorway and grinned at him and he wasn’t so sure.

“Ready now?” He just nodded. Shawl wrapped around her shoulders ( _Good_ , he thought. _Keep it that way_ .) and black clutch in hand, she flicked the light switch by the door and plunged the bunk into darkness. He followed her out into the hallway, pulling at his collar once more. “And Fitz?” She entered the code to shut and lock the door to his bunk, not catching his eye. “You do look dashing.” Then she smiled up at him with affection-- _affection?--_ before making her way down the hall.

_Crap._

 

The party was in full swing by the time they arrived at Professor Balfour’s doorstep. The Balfours’ annual holiday party brought together some of the best and brightest Academy alumni. While Ops graduates rarely attended, the party was always filled with SciTech and Communications grads rubbing elbows with esteemed faculty and the occasional S.H.I.E.L.D. bigwig. Despite having been invited before, this would be the first time the Fitz and Simmons had attended.

“You guys in?” Skye’s voice crackled over the comms placed discreetly in their ears.

“Roger that. 10-4.”

Simmons quirked an eyebrow at him, looking amused. “About to enter the house, Skye. Then we should probably refrain from talking back to you very much. Lest we look like a crazy person.”

“You’d know all about that, Simmons. But understood. I mean, 10-4.”

Fitz opened the heavy wooden door, following Simmons inside.

“It’s going to be so nice to see our old professors, won’t it, Fitz?” Simmons asked, her voice a little louder than he thought sounded natural. The pair stood in the foyer of the house, surveying the party.

“The smart ones, sure.” A member of the serving staff approached them with a tray of drinks. After a moment of hesitance, Fitz took a glass of red wine and handed it to Simmons, before taking a glass of white for himself. “I hope Professor Blevins isn’t here, though.”

She took a sip of her wine, smiling into the glass. “You _did_ cause an explosion in his lab. I’m not sure he’ll want to see you, either.”

“It wasn’t my fault!”

“Tell that to his eyebrows. I wonder if they’ve grown back yet.”

“Alright, Ms. Professor’s Pet,” he began, reaching out to just brush the back of her arm with his fingertips, leading her a few steps further into the house. “I think I see Jergens over by the stereo.”

“Where?” She narrowed her eyes, scanning the faces in the living area from which festive holiday music emanated.

“No, I was only kidding, actually,” he said apologetically. Professor Jergens was the only professor to ever give Simmons a B. She’d moped about their apartment for a week.

“Not funny.”

She took two puff pastries off the hors d’oeuvres tray of a passing waiter and handing him one. He popped it in his mouth.

“D’you want to plant the first device, or shall I?” she whispered. Mouth full, he indicated for her to do so. No one seemed to have noticed their entrance just yet. From her clutch, she produced a tiny device. An antique sewing table sat against the wall in the overly large foyer, and she ran her hand across the wood admiringly. He watched as Simmons moved her hand from the top of the wooden table to just beneath it, placing the bug. Fitz was impressed. He’d never have guessed that this was the woman who’d recently gotten so flustered at having to lie that she’d shot a superior officer with a Night Night gun. She stood back, fixing the table with one last appraising look, which he thought truly sold the operation-- until she turned back to him with the biggest, proudest smile he’d ever seen and his heart skipped a beat, and not from fear of getting caught.

“One down,” she sing-songed, lowering her chin to her collarbone.

“Great! You’re a rockstar, Simmons,” Skye said.

“Real spies don’t celebrate,” Fitz leaned over to whisper in her ear, amused. She tried to scowl, but couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Come on. Let’s try the living room.”

They moved onto the next room, a large, old-fashioned lounge that smelled of leather. Both took stock of the room-- for people they knew as well as places to hide a bug--until suddenly, Simmons’ eyes widened.

“Oh crap, Fitz. Stand in front of me!” She moved behind him, using his body to block her from view, ducking down. Bewildered, he turned around in place so that he could face her, yet still hide her from the mysterious threat.

“What is it? Jergens here after all?”

“Ugh, worse.” She stood with her head bowed and wine glass clutched to her chest, even closer to Fitz than usual. She smelled nice. He tried to ignore that.

“Well?”

“Kendall White,” she whispered. She straightened slightly, peeking just over Fitz’s shoulder before popping back down into her hunched position.

“Your first year roommate? What’s she doing here? I never thought she was the sort to get invited to one of these parties. Always thought she was a bit daft.”

“She was.”

She managed another covert peek over his shoulder. “You’re really doing a great job of acting normal, Simmons,” he noted, laughing.

“Let’s just move so she doesn’t see us. Maybe the kitchen?” They moved toward the kitchen, Simmons stiltedly trying to match strides with Fitz so that she could remain hidden from her former roommate. Just as they crossed from lush cream carpet to sleek grey tile--

“Jemma Simmons!”

The look on Simmons’ face was that of sheer horror, Fitz thought, and not one he had often seen. The whole ordeal amused him. He remembered Kendall-- Simmons had shared a room with her when they’d first met, so he’d endured her inane chatter whenever he’d studied in their dorm. But he didn’t think she had been bad enough to earn this kind of reaction.

Straightening up, shoulders back, Simmons turned with a plastic smile on her face. “Kendall! So good to see you!

The smile on the face of the taller, blonder woman looked equally fake. She reached out and gave Simmons a brief hug, Simmons’ hands hovering awkwardly near Kendall’s back.

“I can’t believe how long it’s been!”

“I know…” Simmons’ gaze darted toward Fitz, who shrugged, sipping his wine. He didn’t know how to get her out of this conversation any more than she did.

“How’ve you been?” Kendall tilted her head. “You look different. Less frumpy, I think.”

Simmons narrowed her eyes. “I wasn’t--”

“Oh, not that there’s anything wrong with all those button-downs. Some guys are into that, I guess, aren’t they?”

“I didn’t--”

Kendall’s gaze swung over to where Fitz stood, with his wine, mid-sip. “I see you and Filch finally made it official?”

“The name’s not _Filch_ ,” he interjected with indignance. The nerve of some people, honestly.

“We aren’t-- I don’t--” Simmons stuttered. Then determination flashed in her eyes. She took a sip of wine. “Yes. Yes, we did. Listen, I’d love to stay and chat, but we simply must get some food in this one,” she gestured at Fitz, “or he gets cranky.” Brow furrowed, a question on the tip of his tongue, he stood and watched her offer Kendall excuses. It wasn’t technically a lie-- he did get cranky when he was hungry. But he was pretty sure his brain had blown a fuse when she’d answered Kendall in the affirmative regarding their relationship status.

“Toodles!” Simmons turned and grasped Fitz firmly by the elbow, steering him past Kendall and out of the kitchen. “Toodles?” she muttered to herself once they were a safe distance away. “Who says ‘toodles’?”

“Did what I think just happened just happen?” said Skye over the comms. Fitz and Simmons both ignored her.

“Er, Simmons.”

“I’m so sorry, Fitz. That woman just makes me feel so much like a first year again.” They stopped in front of the fireplace in the living room, warmed by the crackling fire.

“Yes, but you…”

“But I what?”

“You told her, um. Told her we-- that we were--”

“Boning?” offered Skye.

Simmons scowled, then sighed, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry, Fitz. I just thought maybe--”

“Maybe what?” His mind felt sluggish, and he wondered absently if it was because of the heat from the fire.

“You remember Kendall. She always made me feel like a kid playacting being an adult.” Eyes lowered, she drained the rest of her wine, setting the glass down on the mantle beside them. “I thought maybe if I just agreed with her, I wouldn’t have to feel like that again.”

Fitz just stood there, staring down at her. “So you said we were… together.”

Simmons’ expression changed from apologetic to cross. “I didn’t realize it was such a nightmare, the thought of dating me.”

His eyes widened. “No! It’s not that.”

“Then what? It’s not like I’ve asked you to marry me.”

His heartbeat sped up at that. At the whole ordeal, really. He had no earthly idea how to handle this situation. “No. Just to, what? Pretend to be your boyfriend?”

“No! That’s ludicrous,” she answered, eyes a bit wild.

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” came Coulson’s voice suddenly. “It legitimizes your non-cover covers. And gives you a good excuse to sneak upstairs to a bedroom. ”

Fitz’s brain really did seem to short-circuit just then.

Simmons gestured dismissively. “It’s not like you have to do anything, really. We’re already here together.”

“So just to clarify. I pretend to be your boyfriend--” He kept getting hung up on that word. It felt oddly shaped in his mouth.

“--and I don’t have to endure Kendall’s judgment. And we have an easier time placing the you-know-whats. Right.” She nodded once to punctuate the point. “Please, Fitz?”

She looked up at him and he knew he’d do anything she asked of him. He swallowed thickly, then nodded back at her.

“Oh, excellent, Fitz. Thank you.” Her grateful smile warmed him as much, if not more, than the fire behind him. “Now I’m going to grab another glass of wine. I’ll see if I can leave one of the hmm-hmms,” she hummed, looking at him meaningfully, “in the dining room.” After a moment of hesitation, she quickly reached up, sliding one hand along his jaw and rising up to press a kiss to his cheek, before turning around quickly. “Be right back!”

He stood there, staring at the spot she’d just vacated, waiting for his brain to catch up. It was the second time she’d kissed him on the cheek in a matter of weeks, and it made his world feel a degree or two off its axis. Not fifteen minutes into the party and already he had no idea how he would make it through the night. _Again_ , he thought, _crap._

 

“There you are,” Simmons said, returning with two glasses of wine in hand. She handed one to him, then added loudly, “Sweetheart.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Thank you.” After a sip: “Snuggle Muffin.” She made a pinched face and shook her head slightly. He tried again. “Cutie Pie?” Another face. “Love Monkey?”

She chuckled at that one, and he smiled. “Maybe just Jemma.”

“You two are adorable, but we’d love an update over here,” interrupted Skye.

Simmons turned more fully toward Fitz, stepping into his personal space. He held his breath for a moment, unsure of her intention, but she just ducked her head to respond to Skye, face near his chest this time so that they looked more like a canoodling couple than a pair of crazy people talking to thin air. On his exhale, she answered, “The dining area is taken care of.”

“Nice work, Simmons! Just four more to go and you guys can get out of there.”

But Simmons hadn’t backed away, and the thought flitted briefly through Fitz’s mind that he wouldn’t mind staying awhile.

 

“Agent Simmons! Agent Fitz! So nice to see you both,” came a voice from behind the two. They turned to see Professor Balfour himself standing there, a tumbler of whiskey in one hand.

“Professor!” Simmons reached out to shake his hand, a grimace on her face that Fitz thought almost passed for a smile.

“Good to see you, Professor Balfour,” Fitz added, shaking the older man’s hand and emphasizing his name for the sake of Skye and Coulson on the comms.

“Don’t worry; all our intel says that Balfour himself is innocent,” Coulson noted. Fitz couldn’t help but nod minutely, at least slightly reassured.

“I heard you two are still working together, and in the field no less,” the man said, looking impressed. “You’ve come a long way since my physics seminar.”

Simmons giggled nervously, so Fitz thought he should handle this one. “Well, we had some pretty terrific professors, sir. Top notch, really.”

Balfour’s smile widened, looking proud. _Don’t you look chuffed for somebody whose wife is attempting to dismantle S.H.I.E.L.D. from the inside,_ Fitz thought to himself, but tried his best to keep his judgment and apprehension off his face.

“I also heard that the two of you might not _just_ be working together…” Fitz and Simmons met each other’s eyes, and Balfour held up his hands placatingly. “Now, I know that might be against protocol, but… I wanted to say, I think it’s terrific.”

“Thanks?” squeaked Simmons.

“Did you know I met my wife, Linda, at the Academy?”

Simmons let out another nervous giggle. Fitz bit his lip-- she needed to get herself under control, or else Balfour might start to suspect something. “Did not know that, sir.”

“She was in the Communications division, actually, but we met in the Boiler Room… her roommate was dating my roommate at the time…” Balfour continued to tell the story of how he’d met his traitorous wife. Simmons and Fitz nodded along, but their attention was drawn to Coulson over the comms.

“The longer you talk to Balfour, the more likely you are to encounter his wife, and I think all parties involved would prefer that didn’t happen. Change the subject. Get away from him and get the mission back on track. You’ve still got four more devices to plant.”

“...and I said to her, ‘Little lady, you think you can beat me at pool? That’s _physic_ ally impossible!”

“Hilarious, sir. I have to use the loo. Can you excuse me?” Before waiting for a response, Fitz turned toward the downstairs bathroom.

“Wait!” At Simmons’ interjection, Fitz half-turned back to where she and Balfour still stood. “I’m sorry, sir,” she addressed Balfour, “But you know how love is. I just can’t bear to be apart from him for a single second!” Another giggle, but this time it fit the situation. “Please excuse me as well.”

“Alright,” said Balfour, holding up his whiskey glass as they stumbled away from him, Simmons linking her arm through Fitz’s. “But you’ll have to hear the rest of the story later! It gets even better!”

“Oh, it couldn’t possibly!” called Simmons over her shoulder as they continued to walk at a fast clip toward the bathroom. Moments later, they were inside it, shutting the door behind them and sighing in unison, relieved.

“I’d never noticed how much of a windbag Balfour could be,” noted Fitz as Simmons pulled another device out of her clutch, searching for a good place to put it.

“I’m a bit more concerned about his wife and her predilection for leaking S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets at the moment, but you’re not wrong.” She finally settled on the medicine cabinet, opening it and hiding the bug on the top shelf behind a bottle of antihistamine that looked like it had been gathering dust for quite some time. When the cabinet snapped shut, they both looked at their reflection in the mirror, standing close together.

“What do you reckon they think we’re doing alone together in here?” Fitz asked her, making eye contact with her reflection. She blushed a bit at that, and he couldn’t help but note how lovely it made her look. Then he caught a glimpse of his own reflection and grimaced at how moony-eyed he appeared, gazing at her. _Get yourself together_.

“As long as it’s not planting a listening device, I don’t suppose it matters, does it?"

“Got another one down?” asked Skye.

“Yes. Downstairs bathroom.”

“That’ll do,” noted Coulson. “That leaves the kitchen, the study and the master bedroom.”

Fitz took a look at the door separating them from the rest of the party, taking a deep breath. Talking to Balfour had unsettled him, and he’d already felt fairly unsettled. “Well,” he began, looking back at Simmons. “After you.”

She smiled, nose crinkling, and exited the bathroom. He waited a moment before following her, looking around in hopes that no one had noticed them in there together. Across the room, though, he spotted Balfour watching them. The older man winked, and Fitz broke his gaze, shuddering.

“Kitchen?” he asked, voice low so that only Simmons could hear him. “I’m a bit peckish, anyway.”

 

A handful of couples and clusters of guests stood in the expansive kitchen, sipping drinks and laughing merrily. Fitz followed Simmons into the room, his fingertips just brushing the small of her back in a way that felt simultaneously foreign and familiar. He perked up at the sight of hors d'oeuvres and appetizers on the island countertop.

“Ooh, meatballs!”

Simmons laughed at his excitement. He plucked a cocktail napkin from the stack beside the crockpot and a toothpick from its decorative cup, spearing a few and collecting them in his napkin. He’d already polished off two before noticing Simmons’ eyes on him.

“Want one?”

“Sure,” she said, reaching for a toothpick, but he stopped her with an impish grin. He pushed his toothpick into one of the meatballs on his napkin and held it out to her, eyebrows raised.

“Feeding me? How romantic,” she said dryly before closing her mouth around the savory bite. She held his gaze as she chewed, laughter in her eyes. A drip of sauce from the meatball remained on the corner of her mouth, and without thinking too much about it, he reached for a fresh cocktail napkin and gently wiped it away. She swallowed and licked her lips. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her own.

“Gag me, guys,” said Skye in their ears.

“I don’t exactly echo Skye’s sentiments, but let’s see a little more bug-planting and less feeding each other meat,” Coulson remarked. Fitz coughed, flustered, and Simmons looked down. He thought she might be blushing, but he knew for sure that he was, and hoped she wouldn’t notice.

“Got it,” he said quietly, grimacing. He looked around the kitchen for a safe spot to place a device, and his eyes lit on a nook right beside the door. It held a phone, a vase of fresh flowers and a few notepads and pens. He looked over at Simmons again. Her expression all business now, she followed his gaze to the nook and nodded. She pulled a device from her clutch and passed it to him, fingers gently brushing his palm in a way that he couldn’t think about right now. He had a job to do.

They both casually crossed the few feet to the nook. He stood with his back to it, facing out toward the kitchen to see if anyone was watching them, and she stood facing him in order to cover his movements as he planted the bug. The coast looked clear, until suddenly--

“Shite,” he muttered.

She looked up at him with concern. “What? What is it?”

“Linda Balfour,” he replied, trying his best to move his mouth as little as possible. For all he knew, she could read lips. After all, they already know her to be much more than what she seemed.

Simmons’ eyes widened. “Where? Coming over here?”

He nodded almost imperceptibly. He was holding a listening device in the palm of his hand. He could put it in his pocket, or reach behind him to place it on the back of the flower vase where he’d intended, but what if she noticed? She was only a few feet away, shaking the hand of a man he didn’t recognize by the refrigerator, but what if she kept coming closer?

“Is she looking over here?” Simmons whispered. His eyes flicked down to hers, then up to see that Linda had moved on from the man and now appeared to be surveying the room, deciding who to greet next. _Not us not us not us not us._ But Linda’s gaze landed on Fitz, making eye contact and smiling warmly. He looked down at Simmons, panic in his eyes.

“Oh, Fitz,” she said loudly, sighing. He furrowed his brow. What was she suddenly sighing at him about when their cover could be blown any second?

Simmons reached up to slide one hand around his shoulder to the back of his neck, her right hand grasping his left one-- the one that held the device-- in an awkward kind of dance position. “Just follow my lead,” she murmured. He brought his right hand to grip her waist and they swayed, moving just barely to the sounds of Bing Crosby on the stereo. She gazed up at him, the picture of a woman in love. She was really selling it, he thought dimly. He felt wrapped up in her, in the feel of her dress under his right hand and her palm under his left, never mind the device pressed between them. She turned them in place, slowly, until she had her back to the nook with him in front of her, then she dropped her hands away.

“See? Dancing’s not that hard.” He realized she’d taken the device from him, and was currently leaning back with her palms on the nook’s countertop, one hand reaching further back to stick it onto the vase. He pushed his own hands into his pockets and tried to appear casual as he turned to look behind him. Linda had disappeared.

“Kitchen’s done,” Simmons said, chin down.

Fitz let out a breath through his teeth. “Thanks for the dance lesson.”

A slow smile grew on her face, and she moved to push her hair behind her ear, though it wasn’t out of place. “You could probably use a few more.”

“Hey!” He tried to look indignant, but knew she was probably right. “Study?”

“Study.”

 

The study was empty, the only room downstairs that appeared to be that way. The walls were lined with bookshelves filled with scientific texts and journals, and Fitz thought that if they were truly just guests at the party, he’d love to settle in one of the room’s comfortable-looking armchairs with a book or two.

But they were there for a reason.

“Want to do the honors?” she asked, holding up a device between her thumb and forefinger. “Since I kind of stole your thunder last time.”

“I could have managed it, you know,” he said, taking the bug from her.

“I know you could have.”

Fitz passed the device back and forth along his knuckles, twirling it from finger to finger and back again. “I just didn’t want to risk her seeing me. I made a judgment call.”

“Mmhmm,” replied Simmons absently, intently watching the movements of his hand.

“So where shall we put this little guy?”

She made a distracted noise, then shook her head slightly, tearing her eyes away from his hand. “Oh, where? Hmm.” She looked around the room, then gestured to an abstract painting framed on the wall between bookcases. “Behind that?”

He nodded, then got to work sticking the bug behind the frame as she kept a lookout at the study door.

“Oh, hello again, Professor!” Fitz turned from where he was just shifting the painting back into place to see Simmons looking frantic. He grasped the frame on either side, leveling it, just as Professor Balfour entered the room, a glass of wine in each hand.

“I should have known my smartest students would find my favorite room of the house.”

Fitz quickly moved to stand beside Simmons, facing their former professor. It was hard for him to reconcile the kindly older man who he’d always admired with the man whose wife was threat to S.H.I.E.L.D. “It’s terrific, sir, really.”

“Yes,” Simmons added. “Just lovely.”

“I spotted you two going in here and thought I’d refresh your drinks,” he said, offering them each a glass. They each took one, sipping in unison. “And now I want to hear all about being in the field!” Balfour grinned brightly at them. “As glamorous as it sounds?”

“Well,” began Simmons. “I don’t know if glamorous is the right word, but…it is sort of thrilling to be out there, in the thick of it.” She had a look on her face Fitz knew well. It was a slightly more hesitant version of the one that had convinced him to leave the safety of the lab and go with her out into the field. “Isn’t it, Fitz?”

“Right. Thrilling.” It’s not that he didn’t find a kind of thrill in their fieldwork. He’d had to admit that going on a mission with Ward, being in danger but coming back safe and sound in part because of his own actions, had been invigorating. But he’d also been there when Simmons had almost died. A small part of him wished he could keep her tucked away in a lab, away from harm, forever.

“You two must be very brave, to do what you do on a daily basis,” said Balfour, nodding solemnly, respectfully. “Very brave indeed.”

Fitz’s gaze flickered to Simmons, standing beside him and sipping her wine and smiling appreciatively. His heart swelled with affection for her, with admiration. She may have called him the hero but he’d just done his best to follow her-- out of the lab, out of a plane...  He turned his attention to Balfour, Simmons still at the forefront of his mind. “She’s the brave one, really, sir.”

She turned to look at him, head tilted, but he kept his eyes on Balfour. “You should see her out in the field. We’ve faced armed insurgents and alien life forms--”

“Uh, that might be above his clearance level, Fitz,” Coulson broke in, but Fitz ignored him.

“--and terrifying stuff, stuff you quite literally wouldn’t believe was possible. And every day she’s eager to get back out there and see what’s next, and where we’re needed, and where we can help.” He looked down at his glass, flushing as he realized how effusive he must sound. “It’s amazing, really,” he mumbled, eyes cast downward.

“Aww…” said Skye over the comms. Fitz studiously ignored her, too.

“Well, it sounds like you’re in good hands,” Balfour said to Fitz. Then, turning to Simmons, “Jemma, I’d keep this one around if I were you, if only for the compliments!” He laughed to himself.

“There you are!” called a voice from the living room. Balfour glanced back, then beamed at Linda as she entered the room. “And with a pair of old favorites, I see. The SciTech darlings who went into the field.”

Fitz stiffened, and noticed Simmons standing up a little straighter beside him.

“Is that her? You need to get out of there, guys,” said Skye, a hint of urgency in her voice that Fitz hadn’t detected earlier in the evening.

“Skye’s right,” began Coulson, equally hurried. “We’re getting some intel now that Linda Balfour might be more of a red flag than we thought.”

“Yeah, like a red flag that’s on fire. Guys, she knows S.H.I.E.L.D. suspects her,” said Skye. Fitz cleared his throat and tried to keep the fear he felt creeping up his spine from showing on his face.

“I’ve been trying to get a moment with you two all night. I’d love to pick your brains, if you don’t mind,” said Linda, with a smile that made Fitz think wildly of Cruella DeVille.

“Actually, Fitz--” Simmons looked up at him, eyes wide. They stood in charged silence for a moment, before suddenly she flicked her wrist, tipping her wine glass toward herself and spilling dark red liquid all down the front of her dress. “Silly me!” she said too loudly. “I must have had too much to drink!”

“Oh dear,” said Fitz. “We’ve got to get this one cleaned up.” He looked up at Balfour and his wife and laughed, though it sounded high-pitched and false to his own ears. Simmons had already started for the door, and he began to follow, talking over his shoulder. “Great chat, though, toodles!”

Once outside of the study, Fitz braved one look back to see that Professor Balfour looked baffled, but his wife did not. Eyes narrowed, she looked calculating. This was not good.

“Shall we leave?” said Simmons quietly.

“No,” replied Coulson. “It’s imperative that we have ears in the areas Linda spends the most time. Proceed with the plan-- one more device for the master bedroom.”

Simmons looked up at Fitz, biting her lip, brow furrowed. “Your dress,” he whispered. She looked down, seemingly having forgotten the red wine seeping into the purple fabric.

“Yes! There must be a spare bathroom--”

“Upstairs!”

She grabbed his hand, and the two quickly made for the stairs.

 

The bedroom was the second door on the right, and they’d only mistakenly poked their head into one wrong doorway-- a linen closet-- before finding it. Then they were inside, door shut behind them. They stood face to face, breathing heavily, relieved that they didn’t seem to have been followed. His heart raced.

After a moment, Fitz once again noticed the blooming wine stain on the front of her dress, and scanned the room for something to help mop it up. Eyes landing on the en-suite bathroom, he took the few steps to grab a hand towel from the gold rack beside the sink, then returned to her side. He tutted at the stain and began to blot at it. Focusing on this minor problem-- a stained dress-- kept his mind off their much larger one-- a dangerous spy who might know they were onto her. He knitted his brows together, leaning closer and rubbing at the stain.

“Fitz, stop.” She pushed his hand away from where it stilled just at her waist. At some point he had brushed the curve of her breast, and he knew it, but at this point his brain was misfiring in so many different directions, from the fear and urgency he felt because of the mission and the rush of panicked excitement that he felt at spending so much of the evening so close to Simmons, that that he had little control over his own limbs. Now, his hands hung limply at his sides, the one clutching the towel now tinged purple.

“You just-- you can’t-- I don’t--” she stuttered, brow furrowed. His gaze drifted to a wisp of hair that had dislodged from her bun, hanging along the side of her neck. Still buzzing with adrenaline and at a loss for control of his hands, limbs, eyes, he reached out and smoothed it back into place, hand lingering near the nape of her neck. Her mouth opened and closed, opened and closed, and she shook her head just slightly. “Okay,” she whispered, before reaching out to grasp the lapel of his coat, pulling him closer and pressing her lips firmly against his.

He let out a surprised, strangled noise, tensing, eyes shutting instinctively. One hand still touching her soft hair, his other dropped the stained towel onto the carpet and came up to her side and hovered there, inches away from her body. If he’d felt like his brain was moving in slow motion earlier, he now felt like it was in overdrive. His heart, too, speeding up so much that he could hear his pulse in his ears.

Simmons loosened her grip on his coat, but didn’t let go. She moved her lips over his, her other hand coming up to skim over his back.

Finally, he let his hand alight on her side. She slid her own hand from the back of his jacket up into his hair, threading through the curls and holding him in place so that she could deepen the kiss. Her tongue swiped along his lower lip and he immediately opened his mouth enough to slide his own along hers. He made a noise in the back of his throat that had he been in full control of his mental faculties, would have embarrassed him, but he barely noticed it. Instead, it was Simmons who pulled away, just a few inches, hand still in his hair. She looked like she might be terrified and curious and turned on and nervous all at once.

He was used to being able to effortlessly read her expression, but right then he couldn’t. And then suddenly he could. It was one of panic.

“Bug!”

“Where?!” He ducked instinctively, swiping at his shoulder. Even in her impatience, she apparently couldn't help but roll her eyes.

“No, Fitz! We’ve got to plant the last bug!”

“Oh! Right! Yes.”

She pulled the final device from her clutch and spun around in a circle, looking at the room with wild eyes.

“The headboard?” he suggested. She nodded, crossing the few feet to the bed and sticking the device behind the ornate wooden headboard. She then turned back to face Fitz, looking determined.

“All finished.”

“Last device planted?” asked Coulson.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then get out of there. And be careful.”

Simmons nodded, then jerked her head toward the door. Fitz followed her out, hoping desperately that Linda would stay far, far away.

 

Fitz wasn’t so lucky. As they rushed down the stairs, he could see Linda standing a few feet from the base of them, cocktail glass in hand. Professor Balfour was nowhere to be seen, and she was watching them thoughtfully. Fitz’s chest tightened with fear-- he had no idea just how dangerous this woman was, but he also had no interest in finding out.

He kept his eyes on Simmons. They had almost reached the bottom of the stairs, and just a handful of feet separated them from where Linda Balfour stood, leaning against a bookshelf, sipping a drink. The only way out of the house was to pass her. Was she armed? Would she target the two of them? Would she take it out on her husband?

Three more steps left. In their rush to get down the stairs, Fitz had moved in front of Simmons, and she was now a stair behind him. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground to keep them off Linda.

Two more steps left.

One more step left.

“Oh my god, you’re Professor Balfour’s wife, aren’t you?” A shrill voice pierced Fitz’s panicked brain. He jerked his head up, standing still at the foot of the stairs for a moment as Kendall White stepped forcefully between he and Simmons and Linda Balfour. “I _loved_ your husband’s class,” she said, gesturing emphatically with her hands. “I always thought I was one of his favorites.”

Linda craned her neck around the tall blonde to make eye contact with Fitz, but he immediately looked down. “Go, go, go,” he muttered to Simmons. Keeping their eyes on the ground, they hurried into the foyer and out the front door, breaking into a run as soon as they shut it behind them. Two blocks later, Fitz was just beginning to feel his heart rate return to normal when Coulson’s SUV sped up to them, Skye opening the back door and eagerly motioning them inside.

 

Fitz sat on the bed in his bunk, clutching his pillow to his chest. The trip back to the Bus had been hectic-- debriefing with Coulson, trying to remember every little detail about their interactions with Linda and Professor Balfour, marking the locations of all the bugs they’d planted on a blueprint of the house. It had been all business.

Now, he was on his own with plenty of time to remember how Simmons had kissed him, how her lips had felt on his and how his hand had felt on her waist-- as well as to worry about what that kiss had or had not meant.

He would tell her it was okay, he decided, chewing on his lower lip. That he understood that it had been a tense moment, and that she hadn’t meant it. He would tell her that of course they could just remain friends, and that something as minor as a kiss-- a really, really good kiss-- could never get in the way of their friendship.

He planned to tell her all those things. But the words evaporated from his mind the moment she peeked into his bunk, hair pulled back and wearing his old MIT t-shirt. She stepped just inside, not taking her eyes off his as she slid the door shut behind her until they both heard it click.

His breath hitched and he held it. She hesitantly took two steps toward him, stopping just before where he sat on the bed.

“We should talk.”

He nodded, his mouth dry. _Here it comes_ , he thought, waiting for her to tell him that she regretted the kiss, that she pulled away because she didn’t want it, that she didn’t want him.

“I’m really sorry,” she said, one of her hands nervously toying with the fingers of her other hand.

“For what?” He unconsciously mimicked her, one thumb rubbing at his palm as he looked up at her.

“You know what for,” she said, wincing. When he continued to stare at her blankly, she sighed. “For-- for that kiss. I shouldn’t have done that.” He nodded then, eyes downcast. She continued, “It was completely unprofessional behavior, and I could have compromised the mission.”

Fitz’s gaze flew back up to her, head cocked to the side. “You’re sorry you kissed me… because it could have ruined the mission?”

“You don’t have to rub it in, Fitz. We made it out in one piece.”

He stood up then, quick enough to make him a bit dizzy and ending up much closer to Simmons than he’d anticipated. He looked into her eyes, faces just inches apart. His heart was beating fast. “You’re sorry… because we were on a mission.”

“Yes, Fitz!” She shrugged, shaking her head quickly. “Linda Balfour could have walked in! Anyone could have. That was not the time nor the place.”

“Does that mean...there is a proper time and place?”

“Um.” She broke his gaze, lips pursed, cheeks turning slightly pink.

“Simmons?”

After a moment, she raised her eyes to meet his once again. He was baffled to see that she looked as nervous as he felt. “Um.”

“I don’t suppose,” he began, heart thumping in his chest. “Now… and here… might be better?”

She stared at him silently for a moment that seemed to go on for ages, but then she slowly nodded, and he suddenly knew that they were on the same page after all. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then reached out to place both hands on her waist. Her own hands moved to circle his neck, and they stood like that, almost toe to toe, so close that it was hard for Fitz to look into both of her eyes at once so he had to shift his gaze back and forth between them.

She closed the distance between them once again, and he followed, mouth pressing against hers and pushing all thoughts out of his mind, except that he might be content to follow her forever. One of her hands moved down to trail along his spine, and her teeth barely grazed his bottom lip, and he felt warm all over, pulling her closer and splaying one hand at the small of her back. Finally a lack of oxygen made him pull back, just slightly.

“There’s a time and place for everything,” Simmons whispered, and he grinned as he leaned back in to kiss her again, achingly pleased to be in that moment, in that place, with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Want to chat on Tumblr? I'm unbreakablejemmasimmons over there!


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